


Masks

by raven_ariana



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-15 20:45:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5799349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raven_ariana/pseuds/raven_ariana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Katara shows Zuko he has never needed to hide. A Phantom of the Opera inspired one-shot. Modern AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Masks

Katara had just finished her tour of the dessert bar when she spotted him, hiding in the shadows of a pillar swathed in dark purple velvet drapes and gold ribbon. In his crisp tux and white mask slanted over his left eye, his messy hair the only sign of rebellion against his father, he would have been a sight to behold - save for the scowl on his face and the pitch-black notes of his bad mood hanging stagnant above him. The masqueraders had left a wide berth around his pillar, a strange semi-circle of empty space and grumpy man in the crowded ballroom. 

Katara sighed and pulled off her gold filigree mask, tucking it between the fingers of her left hand and her plate. She looked down at the plateful of dessert contemplatively, wondering how much she could polish off in the time it would take her to cross the room and get to him (he was going to ruin the taste of her chocolate, she just knew it). 

When she looked up again, she realised he had spotted her, golden eyes narrowed through the slits in his porcelain mask. No escape now. Katara shot him an exasperated look in response, and began making her way through the masked crowd, carefully guarding her pile of dessert. 

By the time she emerged from the crowd into his rather impressive semicircle, she had lost her mask and was barely clinging on to her left heel with her toes. She released the infuriating shoe and limp-stomped over to him, holding out her precious plate of dessert. 

"Hold this, Zuko."

He obliged without comment and watched her as she kicked off her right heel and doubled back to retrieve the left. Dropping her shoes in a pile next to his pillar upon her return, Katara straightened and held out her hands expectantly. 

Zuko handed her plate back reluctantly. "... that's a lot of chocolate."

"Wanna share?" Katara grinned as she popped a chocolate éclair into her mouth.

Zuko ignored her offer. "You're singing later. The sugar and caffeine will ruin your voice."

Katara rolled her blue, blue eyes and shoved the plate towards him. "Then eat. Before I eat it all. Goodness knows you need to lighten up."

He cast a scathing glare in her direction. Katara laughed, and sidled closer until their shoulders were touching. "I have dark chocolate truffles," she grinned, holding her plate up. 

Zuko grunted, but cast a sneaky glance at the promised truffle and snatched it off her plate anyway. They stood, eating in silence, and Katara watched him from the corner of her eye. His form was regal and proud, elegant, even, while lounging against the wall. Zuko did not hunch. Katara straightened her shoulders a little, suddenly reminded of the time he'd told her she _might_ be able to do his songs justice if she stopped slumping like she was afraid to be heard. She felt Zuko's shoulders tense beside her, and brushed off her reverie to see what had spooked him.

The partygoers milling around outside the invisible line of Zuko’s semicircle had begun casting curious glances at the disgraced heir and musical genius of the country's most successful recording company, who had disappeared from the public eye several years ago and was rumoured to be holing himself up in his room, writing songs. It seemed that Katara’s presence next to him had made him seem less menacing, as the glances lingered and the whispers got louder. 

The pitch-black notes surrounding Zuko were very quickly arranging themselves into a requiem and would soon crescendo into a death march if she didn't do something about it. This had been going on for far too long since what Ozai liked to call the 'incident' - Zuko taking tiny, tentative steps back into the public eye, thinking he might be able to do it this time, might be able to bear the burden of shame - only to shut down the moment he realised the public would never stop talking, that his father always got what he wanted, that to defy Ozai was to carry a scar for life. 

"Zuko." She planted herself in front of him, giving him a warning stare. "Look at me."

His golden eyes slipped down to meet hers, the fires of anger burning clear and bright in them. And yet Katara could see through that, to the hurt behind it, to the boy who couldn't bear to look at his own face. 

_"Zuko."_ Katara's voice was full of reprimand. She had hurt with him, all these years, but no more. No more. 

"I know why he's doing this."

Katara knew, from the tone of his voice, that he was referring to his father.

Zuko continued without prompting, his voice taut. "He wants me up there when he announces Azula as his heir. He warned me not to take off my mask."

 _Oh._ Everything clicked into place in Katara’s mind. The masquerade theme, so that he could hide his son's ugly scar - the scar Zuko had obtained for disagreeing with his father's methods of planting scandals to shove his rising stars into the media limelight. The scar he had gotten from scalding coffee to the face. 

Forcing Zuko to attend the announcement of his disgraceful fall from the position of heir to humiliate him, dragging him out into the spotlight while still forcing him to hide behind a mask of porcelain and a mask of lies. Katara’s fists clenched tight, her nails digging slur-shapes into her palms. 

"Masquerade," Zuko continued with a bitter laugh, his arms crossed against his chest. "As if anyone needed the excuse. As if everyone here wasn't already hiding behind the mask of their own faces. As if all these smiles and compliments and congratulations aren't lies. All of them. _Lies_."

"Zuko - " Katara’s voice was desperate, as her mind churned for something to say, _anything_ –

"Katara, I can't hide even behind my own face," Zuko whispered, the fire completely gone from his golden eyes, once he'd made the admission. 

"Then don't - "

"You don't understand, Katara." Zuko’s voice was a fierce, low whisper, his arms reaching out and grasping her shoulders, hard. Katara almost recoiled, but caught herself before she could give him any more reason to withdraw.

"When - when my father told me not to take off the mask, I was _relieved_. I should have said no. But I wanted to wear the mask, Katara. Now I want to wear it all the time. I hated masks. I hated people who wear them and pretend to be my allies. I thought those people were liars and cowards."

Zuko’s eyes searched hers desperately - for understanding or reassurance, she didn't know. Before she could formulate any kind of response, his gaze dropped, along with his hold on her. 

"Now I'm one of them."

There was silence as Katara struggled to find words, as she watched him slowly resign himself and regain his composure, straightening and tucking his pain back into his immaculate tuxedo, moulding his expression into blankness until she nearly couldn't tell where the mask ended and his own skin began.

_No. No no no no no no no._

Katara grabbed Zuko’s arm and dragged him further into the shadows of the pillar, behind the heavy velvet drapes, and reached up to swipe his mask off before he could stop her. Zuko’s hand shot up to his face, hiding the scar over his left eye as his other hand reached out to snatch the mask back. Katara dropped it to the floor and reached up, using all her strength to pull at the hand covering his face. Zuko resisted but gave in and let his hand drop when he realised Katara was near tears. The burn scar over his left eye was red and angry, even in the dim light.

"...Katara?" he whispered.

"The scar is your father's shame, not yours," her voice wobbled, but she stared directly at his face. Into his eyes. Not at his scar, but at _him_. "Don't let him make you hide because he hurt you. Don't let him win. Promise me that, Zuko."

Zuko swallowed, hard. He could still feel the burn on his face, where the skin was tight and itched constantly. He could imagine the stares and the revulsion and the overwhelming need to hide welling up within him, ever since the very first time he'd seen his face in a mirror in the hospital. 

"Give me my mask, Katara."

Her eyes blazed, bright and defiant, but she stooped and picked up his mask, putting it into his hands. 

"You can't hide from me, Zuko."

The sound of Katara’s name being announced as the next performer interrupted the moment. She turned away from him, slipping back into her heels.

"I'm singing our song."

Zuko started. His father had ordered her to perform a song of his choice, a song by a different writer, even though she had always sung Zuko’s songs. It was another slight, another reminder of the million ways in which Ozai controlled his son's life. His voice caught in his throat. "He'll destroy your career."

Katara turned to meet his gaze, her eyes narrowed. "Let him try."

She turned to walk away, but stopped before stepping out of the shadow. "I'm your friend, Zuko. I'll always be on your side, whatever you look like."

Zuko stood in the shadows, staring down at the mask left in his hands, until Katara’s voice silenced the room, as it always did. It was the very first song he had written for her. 

He felt a smile curling his lips, the first since the moment he'd seen his scar. Letting the mask fall to the floor, Zuko smashed the porcelain under his heel. 

Straightening, he swiped another truffle off Katara’s abandoned plate, and stepped out into the light.


End file.
